Friday, October 25, 2013

Cliches Explained Part Five: I Only Hurt People Because I Have To

Posted by
K

A running theme in these clichés posts is that women are
getting the brunt of them. So to vary things up this week, let’s talk about a
cliché that seems to concern guys and guys alone.

So you’re an all-powerful supernatural creature, ruler of
all, leader of many, enemy of even more. You were known to set a pretty harsh
example of your followers. But then the heroine comes along, a delicate thing
with a very bleeding-heart, who is not too thrilled about possibly joining the
ranks of those who displease you. So what do you do?

I did what I did
because I had to. If I showed weakness or favourism or even empathy, my enemies
would seize it and take advantage. And if I fall, someone even worse will come
in my place. So you see, I’m being cruel for the sake of everyone.

Sure, buddy. And rainbows lead to pots of gold, and the air
is full of unicorn farts.

This trope is more prevalent in Urban Fantasy than in YA,
and in YA, it’s more like “I need to appear rough and tough and possibly
manwhorey because I won’t have respect otherwise. So that’s why I have this
rep.” Either way, though, it comes from the same place, and it’s one of those
instances where it’s clear how sexism hurts both men and women.

From an early age, boys are taught that they must behave in
a certain manner. They must be rough and tough and possibly hide their natural
intelligence, or if not, they must use it to rise above everyone else. The
requirements are pretty arbitrary, given the differences in circumstance and
culture; and any failure of complying with the secret code of conduct of
manhood results in instant and merciless retaliation. “Weenie,” “wuss,” or
“Nancy-boy,” “fag,” and any other term that equates the receiving party to that
terrible enemy – women and homosexuals.

It’s been like that for a long time, so it’s really no
surprise when these attitudes find their way into books.

Lately I’ve been re-reading “Once Burned” by Jeanine Frost
(because I get craving for good ol’ fashioned beefcake and love-hate
relationships,) and I was struck at how many times Leila, the heroine, had to
challenge Vlad, the hero, about his overly violent methods of dealing with any
kind of dissent. Leila is naturally disconcerted when she finds out just what
kind of methods he employs on a regular basis, but Vlad, of course, points out
that he’s lived for six hundred years (he’s a vampire) and seen what happens
when your people don’t obey you.

*snort*

Except no. One, you cannot live six hundred years and never
change your way of thinking (not unless you’re in a paranormal romance and the
author needs to hammer in home just what kind of speshul snowflake the heroine
is.) If you’re a paranormal creature with so much time under your belt, you
could not have at least once questioned your way of life, or gone through an
uncertainty phase. If I had lived for so long, I would have tried the modern
invention of psychotherapy at least once (for shits and giggles if nothing
else.)

Two, your enemies (whomever they are) will come after you
anyway. That’s why they’re your enemies. Even if they’re on the fence, if they
decide to backstab you, you won’t be able to change that with your behaviour.
The only thing being excessively violent and strict will do is convince them
that you’re the same. In which case, it turns out you’re more interested in
gaining your enemies’ respect than that of your employees.

And no, I don’t think “respect” and “fear” are the same
thing either.

Unfortunately, Leila doesn’t get to point that out, because
every time she calls Vlad’s behaviour into question, he whips out his sob story
and basically tells her that she’s got no right to judge him. Yeah… dude, you
know, legit criticism isn’t judgement, it’s common sense.

On the YA front, Sarah J Maas’ “Throne of Glass” features a
prime example of what happens when someone gets too empathic – they get stabbed
in the back, literally and figuratively. In her final match, assassin Celaena
Sardothien has the option of either killing her opponent or letting him walk.
Since she’s spent the whole of the book thinking about how she would like to
annihilate that guy, the fact that she doesn’t land the fatal blow should count
for something. But her opponent, rather than slinking off to lick his wounds
and bide his time to get revenge, decides to risk it all by attacking her while
she’s distracted.

Because?

Anyone?

It’s a pretty sad scene, when you think about it. The two
characters have completely abandoned their in-story personality (Celaena as a
blood-thirsty assassin and her opponent as an intelligent, calculating brute)
in order to neatly act as society dictates their respective sexes should.
Sadder still is the fact that Celaena doesn’t even get to raise a hand to
defeat herself – her opponent is slain by the head of the guard (who,
incidentally, hadn’t killed anyone prior to this moment, and who apparently
reacted “before he knew what was happening.”) Gender norms upheld! Yay?

(Interestingly enough, Celaena doesn’t exactly kill anyone
over the course of the book. She talks about killing people, and she definitely
thinks about it, but when it comes to actual assassin-y stuff… she doesn’t. And
if the preview I read on Amazon is true, she doesn’t exactly do that in “Crown
of Midnight” either. Which brings the question – why make her an assassin in
the first place, and not a resistance spy?)

Anyway, how can you make this work?

Well, first of, actually get someone with a different
opinion get a word in edge wise. Don’t let your hero avoid the discussion by
deflecting or gas-lighting, or, if he tries to, make it clear that this is not
okay. (Nor is it okay if he hurts the heroine for her own good. I'm looking at you, Four!)

Two, give factual evidence. Suppose, for example, that your
badass vampire keeps doing what he does best, and then it royally backfires on
him. Have him reconsider his stance and have him really struggle with coming to
terms with the fact that what he believes was wrong all along.

Three, your villains need to be a real, solid presence in
your book. If they’re the antagonist, they need to be there, and they need to
show the readers why the hero is afraid of appearing weak in front of them.
Maybe you can have him convince himself that he’s totes not like them, then
realise he is, and change his behaviour. Whatever the direction of your novel,
the antagonist is an amazing opportunity to showcase the flip side to any
characteristic of your protagonists.

Or something.

Finally, while empathy has its drawbacks, don’t use them as
an example of proving that the other option – merciless and indiscriminate
violence – is correct. For every stab in the back, there is at least one
instance where kindness is appreciated and rewarded. Don’t work with
stereotypes, mix it up. You’ll get an interesting supporting cast as bonus!